


Bee

by blitzturtles



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animals, Blind Character, Blindness, Crack Treated Seriously, Dogs, Fluff, Gore, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Puppies, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 02:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitzturtles/pseuds/blitzturtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which 76 somehow ends up the caretaker of an injured dog, and Reaper continuously interferes.</p><p>-</p><p>Jack can't say this has been one of his better days. There's a storm rolling in. The rain soaks through every inch of his clothing, while the lightning grows closer with each passing second. His visor is cracked, distorting his vision. And, somehow, none of that makes the top of the list of things that have gone horribly fucking wrong for him today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Set Up

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm hella dyscalculic, and it might be helpful to others: this chapter covers days 1 and (part of) 2.

Jack can't say this has been one of his better days. There's a storm rolling in. The rain soaks through every inch of his clothing, while the lightning grows closer with each passing second. His visor is cracked, distorting his vision. And, somehow, none of that makes the top of the list of things that have gone horribly fucking wrong for him today.

A small whimper drags his attention downward. He rests a large hand on the mutt's head to further shield it from the rain. No matter how far forward he hunches or how he cradles the dog in his arms with his leather jacket wrapped around it, he can't seem to shield it from the worst of the storm. The mutt is shaking in his arms so badly that it might as well be vibrating.

By the time Jack gets back to his safehouse, they're both thoroughly drenched and miserable. He carefully places the dog on the center of the makeshift cot he's been using for the last week. He goes in search of the bag he tends to drag from place to place, moving with stiff and slow as he goes. There isn't much in the bag. Some basic medical supplies, a few tools to work on the visor when necessary, and a change of clothes. He could always return to Watchtower when he's really desperate.

The dog- a puppy, really- is curled into a ball. It's so still that Jack isn't sure whether or not it's still alive, but he places a hand on the dog's stomach and finds it still moves on occasion. Good. He can work with that at least.

He sets to work, spreading out the things he needs in order to take care of the pup. He knows it had been bleeding earlier, so he searches for the source. Instead of an open wound, he finds stitches. Two have been popped open, but the rest remain in tact. They're not the best, but they aren't the worst either. He stands there a moment, dumbfounded. Did the mutt escape from a caring owner? Who stitches up a dog and lets it run out in the streets? It's dirty, scrawny. Way too damn small with how many ribs he can feel. Judging by the size of its paws, he figures it'll be a big dog.

Jack spends the rest of the night cleaning away the blood and grime, redoing the ruined stitches, and disinfecting the wounds. He checks for others, but everything has already been taken care of. All he can do is try to warm the pup up and hope for the best, so he grabs at the blanket at the end of the cot and wraps the mutt in it.

He slips his visor off, ignoring the unease that almost immediately settles in. The wet clothes go next. In that he finds relief. They're heavy and freezing. He pulls on his spare set with some difficulty. Raising his arms in any way causes his ribs to scream in protest. He settles on the cot carefully. He nearly takes the floor, but he doesn't think he'd be getting up again if he tried that in his current state.

There's at least two cracked ribs on his left side. Jack doesn't need sight to know that he's probably covered in bruises of various shapes, sizes, and colors. There are some lacerations which he cleans quickly. Mercy's voice is in the back of his head, insuring that he knows he'll be chewed out if he lets something small and insignificant get infected from negligence.

The pup squirms a bit, drawing Jack's attention. Before he can reach to check on it, the pup has its head resting against his knee, pressed as close as it can get in its current state. Jack goes back to work, finding only one injury that needs stitches. He cleans it carefully, deciding he can survive the night without if he just bandages it and checks on it occasionally.

Sleep doesn't come easy. He checks on the mutt every so often. It's still breathing, which is all he can truly tell of its condition. The room doesn't smell like decay. His hand still moves steadily when he places it gently on the pup's stomach. Every so often the little furball squirms a little closer, despite Jack already being wrapped around it.

Jack lets his hands wonder. His touch is careful and light. He doesn't want to cause it pain or wake it up. He finds that the mutt is missing the tip of one of its ears. The injury has long since healed. Its fur is thick, possibly double-coated, but it's been a long goddamn time since Jack has had a dog. He suspects 'it' is actually a 'she', but he can't really be sure.

For a brief moment he thinks about what he should call her. The idea gets brushed aside quickly for being absurd. He doesn't intend to keep the mutt. Keeping her alive is one thing, but his lifestyle isn't exactly the best for having a pup running around. That's the only reason people name animals, right? If they plan to keep them. Otherwise you'd just get attached for no reason.

When he wakes up-- when had he fallen asleep?-- Jack swears the room smells faintly of death. His hand immediately goes to the pup. She's still breathing. The sudden touch startles her, and she jolts awake. He frowns and reaches for his visor with one hand while keeping the other on the dog. The room seems just as empty as before. He can't pick up on anything. The smell is almost entirely gone, so he chalks it up to a migraine aura and hopes the rest doesn't follow until later. He's got better things to do than to lie around for the next few hours digging his fingers into his eyes.

The problem is still the dog. He hasn't needed the assistance of a rescue organization before, so he has no idea where to take her. No idea if there's even a credible rescue in these parts. He needs to find the dog an actual vet. Maybe get her a real bath. Food, water. _Fuck,_ she was turning out to be a handful already.

Jack decides that the mutt can stay on the cot until he gets it all worked out. He can probably waste another few hours trying to track a long cold trail. If he happens to find information on a potential vet or rescue, then that's an added bonus.

It doesn't take him long to get ready. He carefully wraps the dog up again after cleaning her stitches. She whines a bit but seems to be doing a hell of a lot better now that the freezing rain isn't also wearing at her. With any luck, she'll perk up even more with some food and water. He tries to get her to drink a bit before leaving, but it seems to be too much of an effort. He leaves the water close by, figuring the worst that can happen is that she knocks it over onto the cot.

-

The rain continues steadily throughout the day, effectively ending any real opportunity Jack has to catch up to the men he's been after for the better part of the last week and a half. The search for some kind of rescue is about as effective. There _had_ been one in town, but it's long since run down. The place looks like shit. Smells like it too. He salvages a food and water bowl. Everything else is a lost cause.

Dog food is surprisingly expensive. There are too many choices. In the end, he might as well have thrown a dart and picked the bag it stuck to. He carries it with some difficulty with his side protesting.

Jack makes his way back to the safehouse, slipping inside and stopping immediately. Now he knows for certain that the smell isn't in his head. He takes a cautious step forward, hand going to the knife he keeps hidden inside his jacket. His visor isn't picking up on anything. If someone is there, their ability to hold still is inhuman. He can't hear anything either.

He takes another step forward only for his boot to collide with a small stack of- cans? That's the only way he can think to describe the sound as he listens to them clatter. The pup startles. He can see her jump out the corner of his visor.

After another moment, he removes his hand from his jacket and crouches to grab at one of the cans. He knows without any doubt that he hadn't put them there, and they certainly weren't there before he left. He tries running a finger over the label when his visor doesn't give him much to work with. He sets the dog food down, using his other hand to try and discern something useful.

His phone goes off then, alerting him to a new message. Jack pulls it from his pocket, listening as the program that reads off his texts starts speaking,

_Solid food, really?_

The sender is unknown, but Jack doesn't need the name to know exactly who it came from. The pieces begin to fall together in his head. The only thing he can't figure out is _why_.


	2. Puppy Sling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing Day 2 to the Beginning of Day 3

As much as Jack would like to go about reinforcing the security of his safehouse, he knows any attempt would be pointless against Reaper. Reyes tends to do whatever he wants. Anything that would typically stop someone from getting in wouldn't be more than a bother. Hell, Reyes would probably take it as a challenge. Or laugh.

Jack can accept that, but he still can't comprehend why Reyes set him up to find a puppy at the most inopportune time. The only thing Jack can figure is that he had been too close to getting involved in something related to Reyes, and the pup had been a convenient pawn to keep Jack out of his hair. Not that it answers why Reyes gives enough of a damn to go and get the mutt 'puppy food' (apparently dry food isn't good enough). Or why he had apparently checked in on the pup in the morning while Jack had slept.

Better yet, why the fuck does he need weeks worth of puppy food anyways? He isn't keeping the mutt. Why would he? 

Jack's half-way convinced the whole thing is just a game for a very bored Reaper. He briefly entertains the idea of returning the favor, but he knows he'll only come away from it all with a hell of a headache.

With a shake of his head, he turns his attention back to the pup. He goes through the same process of checking and cleaning her wounds. She licks at his hand in return, and relief spreads through Jack's chest. He shakes his head at the realization. She's just a mutt. He's not emotionally invested in some small, pathetic furball. The fact that she's beginning to act more lively just means he has a better chance at getting rid of her.

He absolutely doesn't spend nearly two hours trying to get her to eat and drink, nor does he plead with her to at least _try_ the puppy food. Eventually, she gets in a few small bites and a bit of water. He scratches behind her ears absently as if to reward her efforts. 

It's not long before the dog is asleep again, and Jack is left staring off blankly, wondering what exactly he's doing.

-

The second day goes about as well as the first. Jack still can't find anything on the gang of assholes, and not one person has been able to point him to a vet. Of course, that's just of the people that respond to him at all. Most avoid him or flat out run when he calls out to them. Evidently, he should work on his people skills a bit. He's spent too long doing this lone wolf thing, avoiding people whenever possible. With the new Overwatch, he doesn't have to think about it. They each seem to roll with his gruffness as if it's always been that way.

When Jack returns to the safehouse, he keeps his boots on all the way to the bed. He's exhausted, in pain, and completely worn down in every way. At the same time, he isn't in the mood to smash his toes into whatever else Reyes could have possibly thought to drop off. There's a distinct lack of decay, but that doesn't mean Reyes hadn't been there at some point.

The cot sinks a bit as he sits. He holds one hand against his ribs, hissing when turning to look at the pup sends stabbing pain throughout his entire torso. All he wants to do is sleep, but he goes through the same process as before, making sure the mutt is taken care of before himself.

It isn't until after he finishes checking the mutt over that she starts whining. He frowns in confusion. Did he do something to inflame one of her wounds? The whining steadily increases in both pitch and frequency. Almost like an urgen-

"Shit," Jack picks her up as quickly-- and carefully-- as possible. His brain seems to already be offline, and he looks around the small safehouse trying to think. Even with the visor, his options appear limited. The only solution he has is to let her go in the corner. There aren't any papers there, but he doesn't have a better solution. He hadn't thought about _that_ before.

Once she's finished, he carries her back over to the cot, setting her down. He debates cleaning up the mess, only to realize he really doesn't have the means to do so.

He's going to strangle Reaper next time he sees him.

Jack makes a mental note to go on another supply run later. For now, all he wants to do is sleep. He's too damn old for this shit. 

At least it only smells vaguely like ammonia...

-

The next morning passes without much event. He has the forethought to take the dog _outside_ to do business. Jack has to help hold her up, but she seems to be putting a decent amount of weight on the oversized paws of her. That has to be a good sign. He tries the food again with a bit more success, and she drinks at the water with some enthusiasm. At least that means she isn't as bad off as he had originally thought.

Jack decides to move the blanket to the floor, piling it up enough to give her some cushion. He puts the can of food in one of the bowls, spreading it around some with the lid. He sets the water beside that. Maybe she'll start moving around. He's sure he'll have to clean up a mess or two if she does, but he's dealt with worse.

He goes out again, figuring he'll be as successful as before. If he's really fucking lucky-- and that's one thing he sure as fuck isn't-- he might catch a whisper on where he needs to go next.

The storm seems to have passed for the most part. The streets are still wet. Most of them are cracked with holes in them. Other places have almost completely disintegrated, allowing the water to mix with the dirt underneath. Jack sticks to the shadows and the rooftops, trading off between the two when he can.

By the time midday rolls around, he's tired and frustrated. Breathing is becoming increasingly difficult, and he's using a wall to support himself. Somehow he musters up the energy to make it back to the safehouse. He can go for supplies later. He's half tempted to throw his shirt over the little puddle she left in the corner and call it a goddamn day. Close enough, anyways.

This time when he steps inside, the smell is so strong that he wouldn't be surprised if there were lingering smoke. He can't see anything that might otherwise indicate that Reaper is still there.

He finds the pup where he left her, only there's at least two more blankets added to her little nest.

"You could have just kept the damn thing," Jack says, aware that he's talking to an empty room. Reyes seriously needs something to do with his time that isn't-- in some way or another-- messing with Jack's life.

He notices the dog turning her head slightly as if she's trying to figure out what he's on about. Jack shakes his head. He settles on the floor beside her with a small groan. Using the cot to lower himself only helps a little, and it takes him two tries to get a grip on it.

Jack's aware he's fallen into a routine. It's a sign that he's becoming too content. He needs to find someone to take the damn dog, or he won't have a chance in hell in catching up with the men he's after. Only issue is that it's looking increasingly likely that he'll end up taking her along with him to the next town.

He moves to stand again once the pup is taken care of. He reaches backward to grab at the cot, frowning when he misses the edge and brushes against soft near the foot of the cot. It's only then that he realizes that either the pup or the cot had been shifted slightly. He knows this place like the back of his hand. Vision or not, he knows where everything is, yet that's twice he's missed the damn makeshift bed.

Jack grabs at the new object. It's soft but oddly shaped. Not a blanket, that's for sure. And he isn't the one that left it there. It's thinner in width on one end than the other. The more he tries to make sense of it the more it reminds him of a makeshift sling from his Overwatch days back when they'd find whatever they could to tie together to make a support. Trying to hold a busted arm still is a hell of a lot harder without one.

His phone goes off three times in rapid succession, startling him out of his thoughts. He drops the mystery fabric. The puppy doesn't jump this time, though her head comes up to look at him.

Jack pulls his phone from his pocket, playing the messages.

_The corner is done._  
_Puppy sling._  
_Laredo._


	3. Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Day 3

It takes way too long for Jack to realize that the messages aren't meant to be a puzzle he has to solve. Even longer for him to think that he has no obligation to play Reyes' game. The first message is the easiest to sort out. Apparently Reaper has decided cleaning up puppy piss isn't below him. Impressive. The second takes a moment. He wonders if a fucking _puppy sling_ can double as a murder weapon. 

... he isn't using a fucking _puppy sling_.

The last is the only helpful thing. _Laredo._ If he's going to continue his streak of doing exactly what Reaper wants, he needs to go to Laredo. If it doesn't result in his death, he might stand a chance at finding the fuckers he's looking for.

Again, that's if he isn't walking into a trap.

He tucks his phone away again and shifts his attention to the pup. She almost looks brighter, more alive. Like she's putting off more heat and not so close to death. He picks her up carefully, setting her back on the bed.

"I hope you know the asshole who stitched you up is a real prick," Jack mutters under his breath, ignoring the fact that the dog has no way of understanding. "Could call you Gabi to piss him off. He always hated it." He wads each of the blankets up and tosses them up on the cot next to the dog. "Something about it being... hell, I don't know."

Jack's losing his goddamn mind. He knows it, but he can't bring himself to care. Too much of him aches from age and injury. He can't ever seem to get enough sleep these days. He's tired and worn, and Reyes can fuck himself for making his life that much more difficult.

He slides the visor off, rubbing his temples when his vision snaps back to near darkness. His head is pounding from excess use. Even the brief periods at night without the visor doesn't seem to be enough of a break for his already abused body.

Reyes can _really_ go fuck himself.

His emotions are starting to get the better of him. He knows that even as he situates himself on the cot with the dog pressed close to his chest and his body wrapped around her protectively. Old memories are being dredged up. No matter how hard he tries to ignore them. No amount of trying to tell himself that Reyes doesn't mean anything would ever be enough. 'Asshole' hadn't been the only thing they had ever called each other. Somewhere along the line they had gone from 'Morrison' and 'Reyes' to 'jack-ass' and 'asshole' to 'baby' and 'Gabe'. And back again. Jack enjoys seeing the irritated twitch he gets out of Reaper when he insists on calling him 'Reyes', never once using the man's chosen alias when it's just the two of them. Reyes has always returned that favor short of being around company. For some reason, they have both always respected the importance of the other keeping their identity to themselves.

Jack tries to shove the thoughts away, chalking them up to his exhausted state. The pup is already out like a light. He can't help but be a bit envious at her ability to sleep so much.

Without sleep to spare him the memories, he decides to focus on something else. He might as well give the mutt a name if he's going to tote her around. It's not like it can't be changed by whoever takes her. She's so young she wouldn't even notice.

He thinks about 'Gabi', wonders if Reyes would try to shoot him if he heard him using the name. In the end, he decides to call her 'Bee'. Maybe Reyes will still pick up on it, and he can get a good laugh out of seeing Reaper's reaction.

Bee stretches her paws out, placing them against his chest. Jack absently rubs behind her ears in response. His thoughts continue to wonder. He goes over the information he has on the men he's after. 

They're a new group, shuffling weapons and drugs around, but that hadn't been enough to catch his attention. Apparently it hadn't been enough for them either, since there most recent tactic for making a quick buck has led them to kidnapping kids. He's yet to have any success in tracking any of the members of the new group down, nor has he figured out where the kids are being taken. None of them have been retrieved. The only success he's had is in stopping them from scooping up a kid in the last city he'd followed them to. Every time he gets within reach, they're gone again.

When focusing on that doesn't give him any new insight, he thinks about the available routes to Laredo. It isn't far. Laredo is run down in the same way every other town the group has gone to. That's their MO. Easier pickings when it comes to orphaned kids or parents that can't afford to keep their eye out on their children at all times. 

Opportunistic groups tend to be some of the worst. There isn't a limit. Every time they draw a line at one thing, something (usually money) will make them break their paper thin morale without any concern to damage or suffering caused in the process. Which is exactly how he'd ended up dog-sitting. Jack had been once again forced to pick the innocent over the mission, and he's been getting softer with the kids around. It's part of why Jack's been doing this one alone. The new Overwatch is bringing too much of the old Jack Morrison back to the forefront. That isn't what he needs. Not what the world needs.

Eventually he drifts off, no less conflicted, and his sleep suffers for it.


End file.
